Midnight by Dean R. Koontz

Though a certain amount of the Lockland family’s unshakable optimism and spirited approach to life came from Tessa’s late father, Bernard, a large measure of it—with a full measure of indomitability as well—flowed from Marion’s gene pool.

Tessa said, “Tonight, just after I got here, I went down to the beach where they found her.”

“This must be awful for you, Teejay.”

“I can handle it.”

When Janice died, Tessa had been traveling in rural regions of Afghanistan, researching the effects of genocidal war on the Afghan people and culture, intending to script a documentary on that subject. Her mother had been unable to get word of Janice’s death to Tessa until two weeks after the body washed upon the shore of Moonlight Cove. Five days ago, on October 8, she had flown out of Afghanistan with a sense of having failed her sister somehow. Her load of guilt was at least as heavy as her mother’s, but what she said was true: She could handle it.

“You were right, Mom. The official version stinks.”

“What’ve you learned?”

“Nothing yet. But I stood right there on the sand, where she was supposed to have taken the Valium, where she set out on her last swim, where they found her two days later, and I knew their whole story was garbage. I feel it in my guts, Mom. And one way or another, I’m going to find out what really happened.”

“You’ve got to be careful, dear.”

“I will.”

“If Janice was … murdered—”

“I’ll be okay.”

“And if, as we suspect, the police up there can’t be trusted …”

“Mom, I’m five feet four, blond, blue-eyed, perky, and about as dangerous-looking as a Disney chipmunk. All my life I’ve had to work against my looks to be taken seriously. Women all want to mother me or be my big sister, and men either want to be my father or get me in the sack, but damned few can see immediately through the exterior and realize I’ve got a brain that is, I strongly believe, bigger than that of a gnat; usually they have to know me a while. So I’ll just use my appearance instead of struggling against it. No one here will see me as a threat.”

“You’ll stay in touch?”

“Of course.”

“If you feel you’re in danger, just leave, get out.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Promise you won’t stay if it’s dangerous,” Marion persisted.

“I promise. But you have to promise me that you won’t jump out of any more airplanes for a while.”

“I’m too old for that, dear. I’m elderly now. Ancient. I’m going to have to pursue interests suitable to my age. I’ve always wanted to learn to water-ski, for instance, and that documentary you did on dirt-bike racing made those little motorcycles look like so much fun.”

“I love you to pieces, Mom.”

“I love you, Teejay. More than life itself.”

“I’ll make them pay for Janice.”

“If there’s anyone who deserves to pay. Just remember, Teejay, that our Janice is gone, but you’re still here, and your first allegiance should never be to the dead.”

17

George Valdoski sat at the formica-topped kitchen table. Though his work-scarred hands were clasped tightly around a glass of whiskey, he could not prevent them from trembling; the surface of the amber bourbon shivered constantly.

When Loman Watkins entered and closed the door behind him, George didn’t even look up. Eddie had been his only child.

George was tall, solid in the chest and shoulders. Thanks to deeply and closely set eyes, a thin-lipped mouth, and sharp features, he had a hard, mean look in spite of his general handsomeness. His forbidding appearance was deceptive, however, for he was a sensitive man, soft-spoken and kind.

“How you doin’?” Loman asked.

George bit his lower lip and nodded as if to say that he would get through this nightmare, but he did not meet Loman’s eyes.

“I’ll look in on Nella,” Loman said.

This time George didn’t even nod.

As Loman crossed the too-bright kitchen, his hard-soled shoes squeaked on the linoleum floor. He paused at the doorway to the small dining room and looked back at his friend.